


What's Done in the Dark

by Syndal



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sadporn, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syndal/pseuds/Syndal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things can never come to light, even if you wish they could.</p><p>AU Samson x Nameless Inquisitor</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Done in the Dark

They met in alleyways and dark alcoves when the keep went quiet, away from prying eyes and the burden of station, where he could be her private shame, and she his fading light.

Samson would take her hard and fast, and that suited him just fine. It was what he knew, what he was good at. There was no time for sweetness when a courtier or servant could turn the corner and catch them like this. The thought thrilled him, if he was honest; the idea of being caught, that the whole keep might finally know that she was his. He had marked her, once, when they first began these trysts. In the heat of it he was seized by something primal, something entirely male that brought forth the desire to claim her. He’d bitten her then, hard — hard enough to draw a cry from her. She had slapped him for his mistake, and Maker, that had only stoked his fire.

Sometimes she kissed him, wet and open mouthed, and it makes him feel alive. Once he had come to her drunk, when the want for lyrium was overwhelming, reeking of stale liquor and sweat, and begged her to kiss him, to let him stay the night with her. She had murmured something about the ambassador, the nobles, the commander, and his black heart sank. He shattered the bottle he carried against her door when she closed it in his face. He would not speak of it again, once the madness cleared, and neither would she; both for fear of losing what little they had with one another.

“Samson?”

The Inquisitor’s voice drew him back to the present, where he lay stretched out across a bench with her on top of him, her round ass in his face and her hands stroking his cock.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, sitting up to look back at him.

He grunts, pushing her back down. He doesn’t want to talk, not now. “Keep going.”

He had smirked when she told him she wished to try something new, and now, with her ass just close enough that he can pull her smallclothes aside and mouth her cunt while she sucks him off, he almost feels like thanking her.

She obeys him, for once. The sudden warmth of her mouth on him again makes his hips buck, drawing from her a sound of approval.

Samson snickers. “Is that how you want it? You could have just told me.”

This is new, and they like new; he thrusts again, harder this time, and when she doesn’t gag, he thrusts _again_. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for the Commander to see them now; the look on his face when he realized Samson was hilt-deep in the Inquisitor’s throat, the green tint of jealousy that would creep into his eyes… The Commander would know that this was for Samson — and only Samson. The thought alone made him groan.

The Inquisitor lets him set a pace of quick, hard thrusts that make her throat ache in the best way. Even when she stops to breathe, she strives to give him the warmth of contact. She strokes back the skin of his cock, kisses the head so gently it makes him want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

“Bit nice for what we’re doing,” Samson said, chuckling.

“You like nice,” she purrs in return.

He does, by the fucking Maker, he does.

“Yeah, well, you might want to hurry up. I think I heard someone down the hall.”

He smirks at her muttered curse, then grinds out a string of his own when her mouth is on him again.

He tries to return the favor, suckling at her clit and sliding his fingers into her cunt, but he’d never been any good at this. He made her promise to show him the way she liked to be touched one day, when they had the time. Maker only knows when that would be.

She slides her hand down to his balls, cups them as they tighten, pulls gently and caresses them the way that makes all the muscles in his stomach twitch.

“In your mouth,” Samson breathes raggedly, and she knows he’s close.

She does as he commands, takes each of his balls in her mouth in turn, sucking and licking, stroking his wet shaft all the while.

Her name spills forth from his mouth, uttered with all the reverence left in his heart, stirring her one last time to take him down her throat, and when she _moan_ s, mouth full of him, Samson’s whole world seems to burst apart into ribbons.

She pulls back, lets him come against her lips and on her face, strokes his cock until he finally goes still and his breathing steadies.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers.

The Inquisitor rolls off of him and the proud smile she gives him, her face still covered in his come, makes him chuckle. He sits up and cleans her face with the edge of his shirt.

But the happiness they’d cultivated soon began to fade. Samson knew she’d leave and he would have to go back to pretending none of this ever happened. He’d try; one last vain attempt.

“Don’t suppose you’ll let me stay tonight?”

The smile that was on her face, carefree and young, was gone, and he knew. It made him bitter.

“Thought not. Forget I asked.”

He turns to leave when their clothes are straightened and they look presentable. He will plod back to the undercroft, fall onto his cot, listen to the dwarf snore until the sun rises over the mountains, and he will ache.

“Samson,” she says quietly. He turns back to her, even if he doesn't want to.

And then she’s kissing him, deeply, like she’s unashamed. He can still taste the salt of his cum on her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes against mouth.

He grunts, untangling himself from her embrace. “Me too.”

Samson walks back to the undercroft, and tries not to look back.


End file.
